Page 16 of Seven Year Itch
“Did I hurt your feelers, Karen Kay? Is there actually a soul inside your big black heart?”
“Ugh,” I growl and turn on my heel, whipping my hair in his stupid smug face. “Can you just go away and let me unpack in peace?”
“Sure thing, Snookems. Can I go to the house and get you anything? A snack? A fresh drink? An enema to help you get that stick out of your ass?”
“Yes, and why don’t you get a personality for yourself while you’re at it? You’ve obviously killed yours at some point in your life.”
Calder grumbles under his breath but shockingly does leave the room for a moment. As soon as he’s gone, I text Cozy a huge SOS message to come to the palapa asap.
I inhale a cleansing breath as I stare out at the ocean view, willing it to make this situation better. But a white sandy beach and turquoise water is no match for the rage that man evokes inside of me.
My head jerks around when I hear a knock at my door. I march over and swing it open to reveal my best friend. “Did you know about this?” I point to Calder’s bag on the sofa.
“Everly told me there was some room mix-up.” Cozy steps into the room, taking in the space with wide, impressed eyes.
I am less impressed. “Room mix-up? What the hell? I don’t want to share a room with Calder. I’d rather share a room with your mother-in-law!”
She winces. “Johanna snores like a trucker.”
“Cozy!” I cross my arms and stand with ten toes down to indicate how unfunny I think this all is.
I didn’t even want to come on this trip because it was clearly all just family, but Cozy and Trista wouldn’t take no for an answer. They both said I needed to celebrate the fact that my divorce is final, and what better way than a private jet and an all-expenses-paid trip.
And after what my divorce cost me, it sounded pretty good.
Randal and I separated over a year ago, but coming to terms on our assets was a deep, deep hell that I never want to think about ever again. He hired some big-shot lawyer out of Denver and tried to take half of my business. A business that I started all on my ownbefore I even met him. A business that supported us for the seven years we were together. A business that he tried to mansplain to me on a regular basis!
“Why do you only sell T-shirts, Dakota? You should sell pants.”
“Your business name should be catchier.”
“Maybe you should hire a new designer and change your logo?”
“If you moved locations, you’d have more street traffic.”
He had so much input on a company that he refused to ever work in, even after he was let go from the bar he managed. I asked him if he wanted to help out at my mail-order fulfilment center until he figured out his next steps, and he said no. He didn’t want anything to do with The T-shirt Shop until the end, and I paid dearly for that, paying him a huge settlement to keep the things I bought with my own money. How I ever thought I was in love with that asswipe is beyond me.
And while celebrating my divorce being final with this trip sounded good in theory... I had other plans. Bigger plans.
Like visiting a sex club for the first time.
Which I haven’t had the guts to tell my best friend about yet... and now I really don’t want to tell her because of fucking Calder.
Like seriously, of all the sex clubs in Colorado, what were the odds that I would walk into the one he’s a member of? It’s not like going to sex clubs is a common thing. It’s not like running into each other at the supermarket. There I was just browsing for dick, and then bam, the Calder Daily Special was announced on the loudspeaker.
Talk about completely mortifying.
I’m normally a pretty confident girl. Granted, I’ve gained some weight over the past five years, and my size-four jeans have been collecting dust for ages, but arguably this is my body now, like it or not. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
However, as I dip my toe back into the dating scene in a different body than when I left it seven years ago, insecurity needles at me. I’m older now, things aren’t as perky as they once were, and thebrazen confidence that was my bread and butter in my twenties has dulled in recent years. Which is why I felt good in the little outfit I painstakingly picked out for that night. A new outfit was the boost of confidence I needed for my big foray into the sex club.
That was until I found myself standing in front of Killer Calder Fletcher. The guy who literally leaves a wake of destruction wherever he goes. Ugh.
But I refused to let him see me squirm. The ass.
He totally fucked with my post-divorce plan, and now I’m too embarrassed to tell my best friend that her brother-in-law saw me nearly naked... at a sex club.
Double ugh.
